


John Gets A Little Pussy -or- Paul's Furry Adventure

by The_Anglophile



Series: All Beatles Fic by The_Anglophile [8]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Crack, Cuteness everywhere, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Anglophile/pseuds/The_Anglophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crack! Paul and John steal a critter costume and discover the joys of make-believe.  </p><p>WARNING: This fic is totally ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Gets A Little Pussy -or- Paul's Furry Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with The Beatles, and all real names are used in a strictly fictional context.
> 
> A/N: Written for [this prompt at the kinkmeme!](http://kinkme-beatles.livejournal.com/1134.html?thread=23662#t23662) (Go fill some prompts, the kinkmeme needs love!)

John wanted to try something he'd seen in a magazine. That usually wasn't a good thing, in Paul's experience, though he mostly went along with John's ideas since he never stuck with them for very long. Paul just wasn't a kinky sort of guy, but he did whatever would make John happy. Up to a limit, anyway. There had been a couple things he refused point-blank, like the "waffle" concept, or the high-heels-and-garter-belts game. It made him shudder just to think about those.

John hadn't yet told him what this new idea was, but he was supposed to find out after their next show.

 

The photoshoot was finished, finally, and John was relieved to be getting back into his own clothing. That session had been the most inane that they'd yet been forced to endure. John was slightly disgusted by it, even though he'd gotten the best costume. He'd been the Sheik, presumably of Araby, complete with turban, George had been Robin Hood, Ringo a dancing bear, and Paul...? His costume had actually been very cute in a ridiculous, vaguely humiliating way, John thought. Paul tended to resemble a small, bright-eyed animal even when he wasn't in costume, so it had been sort of appropriate, really.

John then remembered something he'd seen in a magazine recently, one of those magazines that Brian was always chiding him for buying ("What if a young fan were to see you with it? What would become of your hard-earned public image?"). As he thought about it, he had an idea. A wonderful, awful idea. He glanced around quickly to see where his band-mates were at, but they had all changed and left the dressing room, leaving him alone. He found an empty laundry bag that was lying about, grabbed a costume, and stuffed it in. Slinging it over his shoulder, he joined his companions in the car waiting outside, refusing to answer to anyone's curiosity about what was in the bag. Paul raised his eyebrow and gave him a look, but John just smirked a private smirk and requested the driver tune in some rock and roll on the radio.

 

Paul suspected very much that John's idea had something to do with that bag he'd been hauling around, with its secret contents. He was confirmed in this notion when, after their next show, he saw John sneak off into their hotel room's bathroom, bag in hand. He went and knocked on the door.

"Darling, what are you up to?" he enquired with extra sweetness, entertaining the hope that he could charm an answer out of John.

"Curiosity killed the cat!" was John's reply, and Paul couldn't get anything else out of him, so he turned on his transistor radio and lay down on the bed to wait for the surprise. It wasn't long before the bathroom door popped open and out came John, looking pleased with himself and hiding something behind his back. He walked up and stood by the bed, and Paul sat up expectantly.

"What is it, then?" Paul asked. "Come on, let's see it." He was terribly curious in an _"I know I'm going to hate this"_ kind of way, and he wished John would get on with it.

John took his arm from behind his back and unceremoniously dumped what looked to be an old carpet on the bed in front of Paul. Paul's brows knit in confusion, and John smiled. He loved it when Paul made that face.

"What's this?" Paul asked.

"Well, go on, have a look," John urged, pointing at the fuzzy pile between them. Paul looked at him sceptically, but gingerly picked up the item between his fingers, turning it round, trying to determine its intended use. He finally understood what it was when he saw two pointed ears.

"You _stole_ this mangy old thing??" he exclaimed in disbelief. "And you sewed the tail back on?!" John just beamed at him. "And what in God's name are we meant to use this for? I thought you said you got an idea from one of your magazines."

"I did," John said, and went to rifle through his bag. He returned with a magazine open to a particular page, and handed it to Paul. Paul's face got even cuter than it had been before as he looked at the images.

Paul was gazing with dismay at photographs of a woman dressed as a pony being led around on a halter by a man. He looked at the costume and back at the magazine, then up at John. "Honestly?" he asked, wondering - hoping - that John was just fucking around.

"Yes!" John replied with enthusiasm. "I want you to be my kitten!"

 

Paul could not _believe_ he was going along with this. John had obviously gone mad, at long last. And yet, here he was, on all fours in a bloody cat costume, with John patting him on the head. Thank God for the privacy of hotel rooms.

"Aren't you going to purr?" John said, as he rubbed behind Paul's 'ears'.

Paul wanted to scratch him, but his paws didn't come with claws. "Purr? _Purr?_ I'm dressed as a damn cat. What more do you want?"

"Awr, Blackie's a grumpy kitty!"

With that, Paul sat back on his haunches and pointed a be-mittened finger at John, other paw on his hip. "No! You are _not_ calling me "Blackie"."

"Fine, what do I call you, then?" John asked patiently.

"I have a perfectly fine name, just use it." Paul glanced nervously at the walls of the room. "And let's not be loud about this, right?"

"Right-o, Paulie," John agreed with a smart salute. "Now be a good kitty, won't you?" Paul rolled his eyes, but leaned against John's legs and rubbed his head against them.

"There's a good cat," John said softly, and reached down to rub Paul's back. _Wow, that actually feels pretty good_ , Paul thought, and he closed his eyes and let John continue. John started a good scratching rhythm and it was feeling pretty fabulous, much to Paul's surprise, when suddenly there was a knock on the door. Paul jumped about a mile in the air and then scrambled to get under the covers of the bed as John laughed and went to answer the door. John checked to make sure Paul was fully hidden before he opened the door to find Brian standing there.

Brian walked in and looked around. "Where's Paul?" he asked.

John pointed to the lump in the bed. "He's just taking a cat-nap."

 _I'll murder him,_ thought Paul as he lay still, trying to look asleep. _I'll have him buried in this horrid costume._

"Ah," Brian said and lowered his voice, "I'll just talk to you, then, and you can tell him when he wakes up." Brian proceeded to explain to John about a newly-scheduled press-conference they would be attending at the next stop on their tour. It would be in the morning, unfortunately, but it was a good publicity opportunity and Brian hoped that they would get up bright and early to be ready for it. John assured him that they would (though he himself fully intended to stay in bed until the last possible minute, as he usually did) and said goodnight to Brian, ushering him out of the room.

Once the door was shut, John went back to the bed. "It's safe now, puss-puss," he said with a smirk. When Paul didn't respond, he leaned over and shook him through the blanket. "Come on, Paulie, don't be cross with me." Still nothing. He pulled the blanket back and Paul leaped up with a roar and grabbed him like a panther, pulling him onto the bed. John shouted with surprise and the two wrestled until they slipped off the bed onto the floor with a loud thump. They were all tangled up in the blanket, and just lay on the floor laughing until they ran out of breath.

"What happened to not being loud?" John asked.

"A cat is a mysterious and fickle creature, John." Paul stated disdainfully and got up on all fours, extricating himself from the blanket. He crawled over John where he remained on the floor and stared down at him. John stared right back, a small smile tugging at his mouth. Paul put on his sexy eyes and leaned down slowly... and licked John on the nose.

"Augh!" John grimaced and wiped his nose with his sleeve while Paul grinned merrily at him.

"You said you wanted a kitten, John, luv," Paul said innocently, an angelic expression on his face.

"Come 'ead, thou small furry menace," John growled, pulling Paul down to him for a real kiss. They kissed there on the floor until Paul pulled back, licked his lips, and purred, "Kitty says let's go to bed." He humped John's leg a little for emphasis.

"Me-ow to that!" John agreed eagerly, and the rest of their evening was all purr and no hiss.

\---


End file.
